Ripped from the waist, tossed in a corner.
clothes are useless in this game.
And we play.
It is a feast of flesh and she is famished.
She roars and rolls around the covers and in between their legs.
It is a play and we are star performers at what we do best
We love and we feel and we breathe as one tonight.
but this full feeling will not last long
We will crave more.
We will crave less.
This game, undressed.
The culture of womynhood is exhausting.
Some days it is so hard to forgive you. I have a deep, burning hate. A hate so firey I must hold my chest from bursting, bite my tongue from stinging, sit on my hands to prevent writing words that I demand you hear. So I spin in place to concentrate on my feet.
They spin. The wheels in my head that Love runs on spin backwards. Towards you. For it is not fear from experience, but insufficient trust that enlightens my skepticism.
You spin like a DJ. Your promises on repeat. Your kinship on the playlist. Upcoming: heartbreak. Unhappiness sounds like a rock song and a lullaby, and the sound of your breath when you speak.
So I spin for forgiveness. A destination in absolutely nothingness. A clear head and a full heart. A white noise in empty air. Heart heated, but not overwhelmed. Tongue crisp but not sharp. Hands float free in lightness. And my body unmistakably quirky in freedom of the spin.
Capital Hill signed with thrill
Generations watch as his Handcock
Slithers across the pages
There are winks and eyebrows of approval,
A forced laugh from the Speaker,
Golf claps all around and
And his grandson screams, “I want to go home,”
Trust me kid, you and I both.
Blue feelings in my chest.
Pulled on a string to walk forward.
The ride feels slow. Around the corners of the road. We slide down the slippery slope, without a care and ditching hope. The ride feels slow, the minutes pass as we approach a different path. The ultimate wait for ultimate power, comes closer by the hour.
Shift your suit
Put on your smirk,
You leave the White House
Already in a hearse.
Whispers as we wait
In the shadows for our fate.
Right before dawn,
There’s an empty slate.
The sun finds the sky heavy to push through
The minutes drag along,
Our clocks now tick to the beat of an off drum.
We whisper as we wait
For dawn tomorrow